“So, Frank. That was an interesting text message exchange you had last might. Who’s Carol?”
“Jeez Bob, I really wish you wouldn’t read my text messages.”
“And I wish I could erase the image of you and the Yoga instructor getting it on with her pet llama from my memory, but that ain’t gonna happen either. Who’s Carol?”
“Carol is my martial arts instructor. She wants me to come meet her sensei, Larry Tatum, this Saturday. But you know all that already - you read the text exchange.”
“How come you haven’t been going to your classes lately?”
“Because I don’t want you to experience what goes through my head during those classes. Not sure you’d like it. And it might even jeopardize your sobriety.”
“Lotta mushrooms at those classes?”
“No, Bob. Lotta revenge fantasies. Ugly shit you shouldn't be exposed to at this point in your road to recovery.”
“Like what?"
“Well, there are a lotta people on my shit list, Bob. People who I imagine I’m beating the crap out of while I practice my kicks, throat punches and eye gouges.”
“Like who? Who’s on your shit list?”
“That’s a pretty personal question Bob. Not sure I want to share the list.”
“C’mon, lay it on me. You know I could find out for myself if I poked around here inside your head long enough. Tell me, who’s on your shit list? Who do you fantasize about hurting while you practice eye gouges?”
“All right, but this stays just between you and me: that person in line at Starbucks in front of me who orders the incredibly complicated drink, like a two Stevia 125 degree dirty chai with almond milk, extra foam, one pump regular vanilla, one pump sugar-free hazelnut; Megyn Kelly and pretty much everybody else at Fox News; Red Sox Fans; Creationists; little old ladies who use coupons then pay with a check at Publix; a few of my former bosses; one or two former colleagues; whoever was responsible for canceling Arrested Development, and Buck Showalter.”
“Buck Showalter?”
“Yeah. I ever run into that fucker he’s a dead man. On account of how he treated Derek Jeter yesterday. Bringing in a relief pitcher to face him with a six run lead and nobody on base in what well may have been The Captain’s last at bat at Yankee Stadium. That was bullshit.”
“Huh. You know, Frank, I think everybody hates those people too. In fact, that was one of the more normal things you’ve said since I got here. What’s the deal with the Jedi mind tricks you two were texting about? Have you learned how to convince Imperial Storm Troopers that yours are not the droids they are looking for?”
“I wish, but no. Most of my training over the past two years has been learning how to avoid getting into a fight in the first place. So, for example, if somebody should get all up in my face, the first thing I’d do is tell him “Look, buddy, let’s not fight. I really don’t want to go back to prison.”
“Interesting. What if that doesn’t work?”
“You mean, what would I do if I actually got into a fight?”
“Yeah.”
“Strike first. And without warning. Three quick shots, then run like hell. Which in my case, is more of a waddle than a run, but the principle is the same. One, two, three - then flee."
"Elaborate."
"Well, first thing I would do is pretend to scratch my right ear. You know, like I was thinking about something. From there, I would wallop him with a chop with my right hand to his Caratid artery, bend his knee backwards with a kick with my right foot, then finish him off with a left hook to his midsection, right on his liver. All the while screaming. “He’s got a knife. Put down the knife. He’s got a knife.”
“Why?”
“Well, let’s say this fight occurred in a bar, or out at Joe Robbie Stadium. As soon as I start screaming “He’s got a knife”, I have the moral high ground. Any good samaritans, be they off duty cops or whatever, will come to my aid because, as far as they know, some asshole just pulled a knife on me. As soon as you accuse somebody of pulling a knife on you, you can pretty much do whatever you want to him, like bash his brains in with a fire extinguisher, and you're the good guy in the fight. If a cop happens to witness it, the other guy will be the one who gets tased, not you.”
“What happens when they find you the other guy didn’t actually have a knife? What do you say then?”
“I’m a little shaken up at the moment, officer, so if you don’t mind, I’d really rather not talk about it until I speak to my attorney. All I can say is I was in fear for my life and did what I thought I had to do to defend myself.”
“Huh. And the flashlight? What’s that all about?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Yeah, this is kind of cool. Maybe learning self-defense is the activity I need to become addicted to as a replacement for my current addictions. Let’s go see this Tatum guy together on Saturday.”